Struck
by a red burn
Summary: She falls asleep with sinking thoughts of the probabilities of her being just another notch on his bedpost.


Title: Struck.  
Author: Moi.  
Summary: She falls asleep with sinking thoughts of the probabilities of her being just another notch on his bedpost.  
Rating: PG-15? There is sex, nothing graphic, but openly implied? Not sure.  
A/N: It's a short one piece. Not what I had intended when I started writing but they kind of have life of their own.

WARNING: It is Unbeta'd. Yes, recoil in fear.

Read, enjoy, and comments would be lovely :)

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She had been trying to protect herself emotionally; she tries to remind herself. To keep the worry and pain and anxiousness and hurt in a sane limit. And she had been right to do it, she had been right to step aside and ignore the feelings breeding, growing, boiling, aching. She had lost him once and it had broken her and turned efficient and impeccable Pepper Potts into a puddle of tears and sorrow and misery; 3 months that had put her in a bubble of destructive pain when hope decided it was time to move on. She didn't want to be in that place _ever_ again.

But she had also learned then that she couldn't live without him. She couldn't be with him either, not if she wanted to keep her mental health in an acceptable state. He was all she has, she's all he has, and yet they could never be. It was oxymoron, a vicious cycle. It kept her hanging in the middle of something she couldn't get out without hurting not only herself, but him as well.

So the best thing she could do, she figured, was ignore and forget and pretend and keep her distance before she was far too deep to help herself. That she could devote her life to just being his personal assistant. Be there but never _be_ there.

She tries to grasp at the thoughts that she has a perfectly good reason to keep him and these feelings at bay, she tries to hold on as to why she should, while it all fades into heat and thrill as his lips find their way down her chest, as his hands skim her hips, as the soft hum of the arc reactor almost lulls her to sleep (and it probably would if he hadn't been kissing her right breast right this moment).

The curse she wants to throw at herself disappears in fragments of pleasure. It is ridiculous, she tries to rationalize, (as her hands and fingers dive into his hair, as a moan she can't stop drawls out of her lips) the kind of reaction she has to him and how she is completely helpless to it. If there were room, she'd have felt embarrassed. Right now she can't even blush because her skin is already red from the heat of his touch, from the heat of her own flesh.

Thoughts of how she should end this before it gets any further (even though it is one second from being as further as it could possibly go) turns into smoke as he thrusts inside her, and then there is only them, right here, right now and his hands are everywhere, his lips are everywhere, on her neck and then her lips, and then her chest and she closes her eyes because she is slipping; the sounds of moans and gasps and groans swirl inside her head. She feels the burning inside her, she shivers and shudders and melts, and he smiles into the corner her mouth right before his own body goes rigid for a moment.

She can't move, she's numb and limp and the feelings are more than welcome and the intern argument she had going on only minutes before is lost amongst thoughts of proximity and lips and fingers and skin and heat and love and heaven. She lifts her eyes up to him; he's staring at her like he's never seen anything quite like her before and when it should make her feel flattered and happy it makes her feel unsure and nervous because she can't help but wonder if that's how he looks at all the girls he brings to his bed, and she feels ashamed because this should be their moment (because he's all she has and she's all he has and because his fingers are touching the skin of her cheeks so gently it makes her heart skip another beat).

She tries to ignore the nagging in the back of her mind because her heart is beating faster than she thinks is healthy; her skin is sleek with sweat, her pulse still thick and quick and she tries to calm herself down but then he's kissing her again and again and again and she's lost in sensations.

She falls asleep hesitantly with sinking thoughts of the probabilities of her being just another notch on his bedpost.

She wakes up to an arm wrapped around her waist and a body pressed against hers and a stubble gently grazing her neck and she knows.


End file.
